Everyone Chosen (for a Reason) The Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games
by and Brooke Stays Silver
Summary: 'To symbolize that the best soldiers chosen by the Rebellion leaders were killed to fight for freedom, I myself, will be choosing a single tribute from each District.' Will your character kill off the eleven others? Or will he demise into a cloud of blackness and see it every day?
1. Hand Picked

"Welcome, welcome. Citizens, today, on this pleasant March evening, we shall be addressing the Third Quarter Quell; the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games. For these Games, to symbolize that the best soldiers chosen by the Rebellion leaders were killed to fight for freedom, I myself, will be choosing a single tribute from each District."

I stare at the television screen in horror. President Snow knows me. He once said he wanted me dead. Of course I was only eight then, but he still knows my name. I'm fifteen now. He wants me as the tribute from Six. So I'm gonna die. Skyha Ellis will die in the Seventy-Fifth annual Hunger Games.

But then again. Maybe he doesn't remember me. He can't. He better not.

**A/N: So I'm starting over with the SYOT. I need twelve tributes of either gender. I will do up to nine of one gender, 'cause I don't want twelve females. (Form and list are both on my profile, BTW.)**


	2. Genevieve and Skyha :-:-: Filler Chapter

**A/N: Guys, I didn't get any more tributes I can immediately write, so every two chapters (in the reaping, at least), I will have a filler chapter. This one is deeper into Skyha's thoughts.  
**  
I remember when President Snow came to District Six. It was eight years ago, and I stood on the street corner and shook his hand. I felt like royalty. But then, he got out of his carriage, and I asked if I could ask him a question or two. He outraged and me.  
'Do you think I have time? Skyha Ellis, I will punish you for your foolish act.'  
I ran all the way home, crying. He practically wanted me dead.

**Genevieve Remus, Capitol, Age Eleven  
**"Mother, look! It says that there will be eighteen Avoxes up for auction tonight! Please! I've always wanted an Avox!"  
My mother nods and we head into the store, looking to see a first glimpse. After twenty minutes, a string of Avoxes starts walking out onto the stage. It appears that they're in order of height. A small girl clings to another at the very front.  
"First up, a man by the name of Octello. He is twenty-six years old, and very loyal. He used to work as a liquor peddler. Starting at fourteen gold coins."  
He's sold for eighteen. There are fifteen more older ones after him, both male and female.  
"Mother, those two left are being sold together! They're nine and twelve. Only six coins! Please!" I put on very sad eyes and my mother bids over four times.  
"Sold to Miss Remus! Sisters Aurelia and Alivias for ten golden coins!"

That night was amazing. I would play with them both, though they couldn't talk, but when my mother wasn't watching, I would slap one of them. And they wouldn't make a sound.

The next morning, I watched the reapings. District Two has the best girl. Katerina Thorne.  
And my mother allows me to bet on one tribute a year. She's mine.


	3. Katerina Thorne, Age 17, District 2

_"I choose Delores Cajun!" I hear the name and I hate it. I want to be in the Games. I want to win. This isn't fair! Quells are the best Hunger Games to compete in and I-_

Luckily, I awake from my dream. Or should I say nightmare. So I might actually get a chance! To be picked! To win!

I kick the sheets off and sneak silently out the door, shutting it behind me without even a click. Of course, my parents aren't awake. Only I rise this early to train. I'm that devoted.

But I hear a door slam behind me as soon as I step on the path. _Mother. _  
"Katerina! What are you doing out this early? And what are you doing with my isopropyl alcohol?"  
"Nothing," I hiss, "it's none. Of. Your. God. Damn. Business." I run from the house, leaving my mother at the door, her hair in fancy rollers. She wouldn't get her satin bathrobe even a smudge dirty to save her life.

"Katerina, hon. What are you doing at six a.m.?" My trainer, Aemelia, is already in her outfit with her initials and a big, red '2' on the back of her shirt, but she's still fairly tired.  
"Aemelia, I'm here to train. I have a chance of being chosen by the Pres., so I want to train as hard as I can today. Let me come in early." I put my hands on my hips and then add with a scoff, "please."  
Aemelia opens the door wider and reveals the large gym with the weapons and all the weight-lifting stations and climbing courses. I run straight for the knives and send a barrage of them into a gel dummy. Four are fatal shots on contact, but two hit the abdomen.  
"That was good, Katerina, but try releasing them with more torque. Turn your waist clockwise as you let the knife go. The knife will go farther."

I snap my waist and this time, they all hit within a few inches of the heart. This I try a few more times, but then I move to a climbing course. It's like a real arena, with metal trees covered in bark. She sends some rubber balls flying, and while I throw myself over the metal stalks, I nail them all with knives and rocks.  
This goes on for a few minutes, but then I slip and my wrist lands splayed across a serrated knife embedded in a translucent ball.  
"Aemelia, toss me the rubbing alcohol. Please." I hastily apply the antibiotic to my wrist and soak up the blood with a gauze strip. I've gotten hundreds of slits and cuts, so it's natural to go right back to training.

After a bit, I just work on throwing and speed killing. Aemelia checks in on me after an hour or so.  
"It's ten o'clock already. You better go to the reaping. If you're late, you won't get to go in if you're chosen, you know!"  
I completely forgot. It happens all the time; losing myself in training.  
"See you... maybe tomorrow. Maybe in three weeks. But I'm not going to lose. I can't. It's impossible."

I run back to my house and seamlessly run up the spiral staircase to my room. I open the closet and carefully take off the hanger a navy blue, strapless satin dress that goes just past my thighs. Then out of my mother's closet a pair of shining two inch black high heels.  
I quickly braid my silky blonde hair into a braid just past my ribs and throw it behind my shoulder. I won't let anything covet my dark blue eyes that give off a false jovial and confident look that underneath covets a dominant sinister glare.

Without clicking my heels on the flawless linoleum floor, I walk to the Square without a glance back. If everything goes my way, I won't ever go back. I'll live in the Victors' Village, in riches.

"Well, I have a special, special, special treat for you District Two citizens today! To announce the tribute to compete in the Seventy-Fifth annual Hunger Games, we have, in person, President Coriolanus Snow! Ooh!" The cheery woman bats her eyes and President Snow walks with his head held high onto the stage, a name in his hand. It better be mine.

"Welcome, District Two! I, personally, am here to read the name of who may emerge as Victor in these glorious Games. She is a female, this year."  
He unfolds the name he's held in his wrinkly hands.  
"The District Two tribute this year, is." He pauses. "Katerina Thorne!"  
I have been waiting for this morning since March. It's finally- I get to represent District Two in the Third Quarter Quell.  
I sly smirk evades my face and my eyes change from jovial to malicious and sadistic.

I walk up, back straight. My eyes are as sinister as ever.  
"It's me," I say proudly, "I will win for you, Two. And thank you, Mr. Snow. It is an amazing honor to represent the District in the Quarter Quell, of all Games. For the first time in three years, District Two will again emerge victorious. Thank you."

The President claps in apparent satisfaction. "Well, Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." Snow's deep voice and Ferrillicai's chirpy, pitched voice are horrible together, but I simply ignore it and hold my head high, glaring into each citizen's eyes.

* * *

My parents walk in, my father straight and sophisticated, my mother in her best dress, not sitting down on the smudge.  
"Charlotte, don't say that. I told you not to- Well, Katerina, make us proud." I glare at him, understanding his every word.  
"That was always the goal, father."  
"And Bennet, that's exactly right. Do. Not. Dis-ap-point. Katerina, we expect so much of you. Win for us."  
I nod. "I will win. Did you ever doubt that, mother? That I ever had a chance of losing?"  
My mother shakes her head. "I never thought that, Katerina. I just want to- I don't know."


	4. Rosalind Touchstone, Age 16, District 7

_"Rosalind, what's beyond the fence?" My sister looks at the twenty-foot fence that stands between District Seven, the woodland, and then beyond that, Intuit. _  
_"Do you want to find out?"_  
_My little sister's eyes open wide, curious._  
_"Really?"_  
_I boost her into the nearest tall tree, burying my axe under a leaf pile made by some small children._  
_I follow after her about twenty or thirty feet up and then we just across, nearly skimming the electric fence with our ankles as we grasp the limb of the red oak tree. But I'm not so lucky. My hand slips and as I tumble, my sister barely grasps my hand and I fall lighter, with a light cut in my ankle._  
_"Rosalind!"_  
_I regain my footing and put a large leaf between the wound and my boot._  
_"Celia, I'm fine."_  
_She climbs down and we walk as far as we can, still in view of the tall tree; the only one that already has its colors this fall._  
_"Look at this, Celia." I kneel and pick up a ring with a rose-colored stone that's shaped like a rose._  
_"It's nice, isn't it?"_  
_Celia smiles and as we talk about the escape everyone in the District wants, a whirring comes into the air._  
_"Run. Run. Hide!"_  
_We both go into panic as we throw ourselves behind a large rock. It passes, but adrenaline pumps through my chest, turning me pale. The hovercraft never stops for anything; just zooms past. Soon enough, the air turns silent again, silence broken only by an occasional bird._  
_I seize Celia's hand and don't stop running until we reach the tree. We climb the twenty feet then hit the ground running, back into the town._

That dream haunted me for three years. But only Celia and I know. I climb carefully out of bed to go tell my mother, but I can't. She would flip out if she heard what I did with my little sister.  
I sit down at the table and my mother joins me after a moment.

"Rosalind, do you want to go work in the lumber yard again today," says my mother over bread and jam, "It's reaping day, so I didn't think you'd really want to."

That's because District Seven has to have at least one thousand workers daily. There's so much wood demand.  
"No thanks. I'll just- I'm just gonna go change for the reaping."  
I devour my bread and jam and slip into my room. Celia still slumbers in the bed, having a comfortable dream.  
"Celia," I whisper, "get up. I need to tell you something."  
Her eyes flicker, and she sits up.  
"What is it?"  
I turn her around to face me.  
"I just want you to know, that if the President chooses me, you know why. I mean, Celia, it's not that I will, but remember that day? It was in September, and you were eleven. That was so fun. But so treacherous."  
She puts her arm around my shoulder, smiling at me.  
'So treacherous,' she mouths.

I get up, letting her go back to sleep.

"Mother," I say a bit louder as I return to the kitchen, "will you support me if the President chooses me?"  
"Of course. But why would that happen, Rosalind?"  
I shrug, like I don't know, but I do. I know exactly why Coriolanus Snow might want me dead.

* * *

I put on a soft pink dress and brown leather lace-up boots to my ankles, pocketing the ring. I put my strawberry-blond hair in a single, loose braid.  
And then, grasping Celia's hand desperately, I walk to the Square, take my place near the front, and fidget with my sweating fingers.  
"Well, President Snow is currently occupied with some other business, so I, Jaimelinedae Seigneur will read the name that Mr. Snow has given me. Ahem."  
I start to twitch and breathe quickly and heavily.  
"Rosalind. Touchstone!"  
I walk up, shivering and twitching more.  
I've expected this. I truly have.  
"And I know why," mutters Jaimelinedae.  
Even a peppy escort knows why.  
"Well, I have to say that I was not expecting this. At all. So I..." My voice trails off and I just walk into the Justice Building, barely calm and collected.

* * *

"Rosalind, darling. Oh."  
I blink, inducing tears.  
"Celia, be careful. Be as careful as you can. And when- if and when I die, that's when you tell them. Okay?"  
Alert jumps to my mother's face. "Tell us what?"  
I mouth 'why' to her.  
"And tell her everything. Father too."  
I hug Celia as tight as I possibly can, embracing her.  
"Mother, Father, I love you, but just know that I may or may not come back. I love all of you. Goodbye."  
I hold them all tight and kiss Celia on the forehead just as they're ripped away by an army of Peacekeepers.


	5. Solomon Hamish, Age 18, District 10

_My father leads me to the barn. "Daddy! Look at the little cow!" I remark excitedly, he replying with some blabber about their fate. Their fate._

I slump out of bed, remembering that day when I was just five years old. Fate isn't something I think about. I don't talk about it. But in District Ten, being reaped is about as fateful as it gets.

The grand District Ten clock reads somewhere between five and six a.m through the haze. I put on a pair of denim pants and a grey cotton shirt to go out to the ranch.  
My family shares a small ranch with the Flynt family.  
I sneak in the back door of the barn, and stroke a young cow that can't yet walk.  
I give him some hay, and he looks back at me with his big, lonesome brown eyes.  
I can't stand to see him so down. I wish I could stay with him longer, nurture him for the next year, but work's work, so I go to the goats. They bleat loudly, constantly. The barn door swings open, and the impending sunlight knocks me back on my knees in its awe and burning sheen.  
Donging eight times, the clock signifies the time to leave the barn and go on my way to the reaping. I hoist up the heavy door and stride out, the reaping fleeing my mind.

"Solomon, back so early? Well, I suppose that that's a good thing, anyways. The reaping." The pang hits me like a train hits anything in its way. Fast and hard.  
But I won't get chosen. I'm large and fairly brutish, but he wouldn't choose me. Not out of the whole District. At least... no one wants me dead, really.  
"Well, I'm back early on this day, of course. It makes sense, I mean... imminent death sentence to someone is looming. Wouldn't want to miss it," I say faintly, not willing to make a joke out of it. I wish I could miss it. Some cry, some act like they're king of the mountain, and some walk up quietly, just looking stoic.  
I would walk up, back straight, with some dignity. I couldn't cry; that wouldn't do. I couldn't be someone that I wasn't; I couldn't be King of Panem.

Even though now, after I've slopped the pigs a bit, at nine o'clock, the reaping still looms for an hour before one family draws their window shades down and waits nervously for their child to demise. Whether by mutt or by bloodlust shattering around them, it will have gore. Nothing but blood is satisfactory to the ruler of this sadistic country, President Coriolanus Snow.

* * *

I slip into my room to pick out something to wear. I don't care what I wear, but it's something to keep my mind off of... you know very well what I feel challenged to mention.  
I end up settling on a simple collared shirt and black trousers. They're patched and worn, but clean. In the interviews, I want who's chosen to wear what he wore to the reaping. Show them what District Ten is made of.

Nine bongs. Someone's going to get reaped in ten minutes. And then, well, die in a week.  
I walk out the door, practically bumping into my best friend, Annikin on the way to the Square.  
"Annikin, you nervous? I'm a bit nervous, but I won't get picked. I really won't."  
Annikin shrugs, not really knowing why I'm nervous.

We reach the Square just as a boy with blond-brown hair stands, his butterscotch-colored eyes staring into the crowd.

"Welcome to the reaping, District Ten! I'm Lysander Snow, the president's son, and since he has other business in the more superior Districts, I will be reading the name," he says, his eyes fixed on an index card with the Capitol seal imprinted on it.

"Well, the tribute, this year, happens to be.." He straightens his back and stares at the name. I clasp Annikin's hand.

"_He _happens to be Solomon Hamish," he says solemnly. No pun intended.  
I walk up, shock plastered on my face, tears streaming down my face.

When I reach the stage, the Lysander boy asks me something.  
"Anything to say about the results?" I quickly shake my head, then flock to the Justice building.

* * *

"Oh, Solomon! It's OK. We- we'll sponsor you and support you. I love you so much. Goodbye," my mother says. "Solomon. this was going to be for your next birthday, but here. Use it for your token!" My father hands me a small wooden dog with my initials on the ears. I hug him and we both whisper 'goodbye' before he has to leave.

"Keera! Annikin! Oh my God. I can't believe I got reaped! I mean-" Keera embraces me in a hug, cutting me off.  
"You have to come back! You need to!" Keera sounds desperate.  
"Keera, of course I will. I'll try," I say. Of course, I won't come back. Not really. Not alive, at least. In a moment of self-confusion, Keera kisses me on the cheek and starts to whisper.  
"Solomon, you are coming out of that arena alive. You are."  
I nod yes, and Annikin says a simple 'Goodbye, Solomon. You have a chance, you kn-" then they're ripped away by the Peacekeeper and I know I'm not going to see them again.


	6. Destinee Lakyn, Age 16, District 9

_"Lysander! You remembered our spot. The lake." Lysander smiles, his white teeth showing. "Of course I remembered. It's our spot."_

I finger the chain on my neck. L and D have entwined, my name curling around his in a sort of playful way. Lysander and Destinee. Lysander Snow. Destinee Lakyn. It's been one year since he visited District Nine with his father.  
The first time, which was two years ago, he had been lost, trying to find his way back to the victors' village. He had stared into my eyes, and then he starte-

"Destinee!'' I lift my head out of the pond and find Lysander standing against a maple tree, looking glum despite his joy seeing me.  
"Oh my God! Lysander!" I run out of the water and hold him tight, my sopping-wet.. everything is what he embraces.  
"But Destinee- I'm reading the name today. It's yours. It has to be, really.  
I stare at him, unbelieving. I don't want to believe in that. I won't.

"No, Destinee. It is. My father knows and-"  
'I know he knows,' I whisper, 'and I don't give a crap. I wouldn't go in regardless.' What I just said was stupid. They'd make me go in. No one could volunteer. The president made up his mind. But it's not me. Surely there must be some brute in the District he wants instead. Someone with the gut to kill.

I attach myself to his hand and we walk slowly towards the Square. "I have to go. I'll say goodbye tonight." I'll admit, that name is mine. His father wants me dead.

Out of a dress shop, I drag out what my cousin's friend wore last year. A black dress with clear sequins that I tuck over the necklace.

When I arrive near the front of the crowd, where the eighteen-year-olds stand, I get pushed back. Lysander stands at the front of the stage with a small slip of paper.  
I admit it, Lysander. It is my name. He looks at the name, his dark blond hair falling into his eyes, his same-color eyes that I could lose myself in-  
"Destinee. Destinee Lakyn."  
For a few seconds, I look up at him in immediate surprise. I feel shocked, but.. Tears spring, as the reality of my imminent death dawns upon me. I knew it was coming. But I didn't know the reality of it. How it would feel to be prodded by a Peacekeeper to your death.

I step on the pidgeon stairs up to the stage, wiping away a tear as I take my place behind the microphone.

"I-I-I'm Destin-Destinee L-Lakyn, and I'm.." my voice trails off. "I'm fifteen. I will try, you know. Wait, I'm si-sixteen," I stutter. I stare into two peoples eyes and run into the Justice Building.

* * *

"Destinee, your parents aren't coming?" Lysander looks as shocked as I must.  
I cry into him, hyperventilating.  
"No," I gasp, "C-capitol killed them because-" I sigh, wipe more tears, and gasp one word, "Rebels." Lysander bites his lip and soothes me. 'You'll come home, don't worry,' and my favorite, 'you will win.' He swore on that, I swear. But I can't.  
The door opens, and three masked Peacekeepers appear at the door, dragging Lysander away from me.

I have to say something.

"Lysander! I lo-" The door slams. "I love you," I finish in despair.

* * *

**A/N: So, short. But I think it was meaningful, and she'll be a mainish character.  
****POV and Including info: For reviewing your tribute's reaping, you get a Chariot chapter. For reviewing yours and two other chapters, you get one-three (Private Sessions Included) training chapters, depending on form detail and review heartfeltedness. For reviewing two training chapters, you get an interview POV, for reviewing on three tributes' interviews (in one review, just refer to them), you get a pre-Games chapter, everyone gets Games chapters, and if you review EVERY chapter, you get... DUN DUN DUN: A someone else's Games chapter included. A gamemaker might watch his/her death and reflect over it, or someone would like xer to have something, and they get their own chapter for thoughts.**

**POVS: If you want something of theirs to be in someone else's or third person, review every reaping chapter and PM me. Some people close to me have already requested stuff, and I feel like they would review anyways, I will take care of that.  
More reviews = more living time. You don't die if you don't review, you just.. don't get lucky. **


	7. Tailor Merrick, Age 17, District 8

_"...One tribute from each District that I, myself, choose." I know this is me. He wants me. His damn son, my damn mother. I take a length of rope from the ground and begin tying it quickly and securely. If I'm going to fight for my life, I need to have a chance._

* * *

Even in summer, at six a.m., the night is cold and dark; only glinting with sunlight.

I slip on a pair of worn-out denims and a dark grey t-shirt before slinking out of the window of the orphanage.  
A little girl gasps. "Tailor, go back to bed. It's early!"  
Lucy Perkasie. None other than. "Lucy, shh. I.. I have to go to school early today," I lie.

I step out of the window and swing off the roof via my rope, clutching the hemp tightly, not slipping down the itchy, slack rope. Right on top of memories is a forty-five minute jog around District Eight.  
I've heard that Eight is the fifth largest District, after Two, Eleven, Ten, and One; I jog around the District completely, stopping occasionally at a factory, watching the smoke billow out of the steamstack, the trucks drive away with fabric.

At seven, I'm back to the orphanage, creeping up the stairs. Oh, crap. I forgot.  
Seven is breakfast time. As soon as I open the door, a swarm of children in tight clothing run down the stairs and open the door to the dining room. Lucy, the last one down, glares at me.

Today, as always, I skip breakfast and head, inconspicuously, out the back door to go meet Jackson Tanner, my best friend.

"Psst! Jackson!" His figure slips out from behind a linen factory. "Tailor, it's rea-, I mean, 'picking' day. This is the last time I'll see you. No training. I got a picture of the arena."  
He pulls me into a weft supply shed and in the flickering light, he shows me a map of the arena, with pictures printed on the back.  
"Jac- How did you get this?" I look at him in fear. There's no way he could- unless- Oh no.

I run out of the shed, not needing more crime after all that's ever happened in my life.  
_My mother's death, haemophilia..  
Her marriage, Chancellor Snow..  
And the Quarter Quell, my inevitable fight for a life. Your life._

I hate the Capitol because of the president's son, Chancellor. Sure enough, he's the reason I was alive in the first place, and he's also the reason I have a one twelfth chance of surviving.

I meet up with Jackson again, trying to reconcile. "Jackson, I'm sorry. I don't want to cheat. A cheater never wins. Of course, I would win, but.." my voice trails off as we approach the District Eight Square.  
Violet Rider walks up to us, holding my hand. "Jackson! I can't wait to see who gets chosen. They put up good fights when the president thinks they're the best!"  
She rambles on cheerfully, oblivious of my history.  
_Or when their mother is with his son.._

We position ourselves near the front, right behind the row of Eighteen-year-olds.  
Violet and I clasp hands, Jackson just stands there, focused, as a butterscotch-haired-boy takes his place near the microphone.  
I grab Violet's hand tighter, for her sake since I know I have a ninety percent chance of being chosen.

"Welcome, District Eight, to your public Reaping. In penance of the rebellion that rocked Panem, a pageant entitled the Hunger Games became penance for the uprising. I am Lysander Snow, and as the President's son, I will be in place of your escorts for Districts Eight through Ten to read the name."

He stands straighter and clears his throat. "My father has chosen a boy. His name is." He crumples the slip of paper after extracting it from his pocket.  
"The boy's name is Tailor. Tailor Merrick."

Violet gasps, but lets go of my hand. Jackson nods subtly to me and I walk up, exhibiting no shock, no fear.

I take my place on the polished stage and look deeply into the boy's caramel eyes. He hands me the microphone, telling me quietly to say a speech of some sort.  
"I'm Tailor Merrick, seventeen years old, and I personally can't wait. I want to see the batch of tributes, and I'm sure, no, positive, that these Hunger Games will be the," I cough, "_best _yet."

* * *

I sit quietly on the couch, waiting for Violet and Jackson to burst in with surprise on Violet's side.  
The door slams and I look up from the intricate pattern on the floor.  
"Tailor! Oh my- Oh." She begins to rattle on quickly. "We only have three minutes, so I'll say this quickly. Don't ever, ever, ever eat a purple berry that glints in the sunshine. It will kill you in six seconds, less. Get a knife, then get water from- Oh, get a backpack too. Get allies, betray them. Oh, always the little ones! Always, and-" I embrace Violet in a hug to shut her up, and she begins weeping.  
She slumps off onto the velvet chair and Jackson takes a seat next to me.

"Tailor, remember your training. The knots, the stamina. Don't forget what you learned, and never. Not ever, let your nerves detach you. See you soon, Merrick. You'll win."

"...training? Tailor- you.." I shake my head, and she knows this means, 'it's nothing. Don't worry.'

"I'm supposed to get married to another boy- a rich boy from my class, but I've always favored you. I love you, Tailor. I do." She lightly presses her lips against mine.  
She breathes in, and trying not to cry, she whispers, "See you later, love. _My love. _Hurry bac-" She begins crying, and the Peacekeepers escort them both out into the bright District Eight sun.


	8. Riya Shores, Age 17, District 4

**A/N: A little sneak peek of the Games.. bloodbath snippet! Then comes Riya's reaping!**

_I take a sharp breath as I sprint for the cornucopia. I snatch a knife and start jutting the air with it. The knife enters my back and I turn to see a smirking face as I enter a death chamber._

* * *

"_Momma!" the door to the community home opens up. "Oh, look at you!" 'Riya Shores,' she reads._

* * *

I wake up at seven twenty-seven in the morning, put on my yearly reaping clothes, a long, holed, green skirt, and a clean white blouse. Watching the District clock (in place of a number, the hours represent each District's seal), I stand at the dark door, gently waking up my friends. In this way, we're always the first when the clock strikes seven thirty, and we're some of the only girls in the Girls' Community Home who are awake for the breakfast rush, a thirty-second period in which everyone who's lined up gets a tray; all but fifteen really don't.

After sitting at a corner table, Cascade, Roulette, Everette, Devotee, and I eat our smoked salmon on the seaweed-ish bread. Not the best, considering it's stale, but good nonetheless.  
After breakfast, we dump our trays and split up into out regular groups: Me and Kai, Cascade and Devotee, and Roulette and Everette.  
Roulette's groups covers the northern part. They're the weak ones, so they get the Peacekeepers that go easy. Devotee and Cascade always steal from the Peacekeepers in the Western part of the District. But Kai and I walk right up to a Peacekeeper watching the ocean. "Tiberius," Kai says questioningly, "what time is it?" The peacekeeper pulls a watch out of his pocket. "7:39." his voice is stern, but he's focusing on the watch as I snatch a pistol out of his holster. I cock the gun and point it at his head, my grip tightening over the handle.

"The coins and the watch. Now." Kai speaks slowly and waits as the man places the watch on the ground and pulls a white box out of his hand and hands it to Kai. I give the weapon to Kai and he snaps it in half with a flick of his wrists, throwing the useless gun onto the ground.

I take the box of coins and Kai takes the watch as the young peacekeeper stands, shocked.  
We sprint back to the orphanage, seeing the other four girls fingering blades and coins.

"Let's go to the Pierstan now," Everette says blandly, pointing to the boat that houses a small black market. The others nod and we set off towards it, following our same daily routine.

With a bit of bargaining and heckling, we're able to get some cod and chowder, a few pieces of paper, and we have a few coins each left over. Leaving the ship, I peck Kai on the cheek and run away with my hand clamped over my nose, still disliking the fishy, lingering smell that the boat leaves.

The clock chimes eight-thirty, nearly time for reaping, so I sprint back towards the community home, paying no attention to the Peacekeeper we nabbed who has regained a pistol. He snatches my arm, and as I panic, fighting Tiberius (as he is apparently named), Kai appears beside me, who Tiberius grips and bringing him to his knees, he releases the trigger, letting a quiet 'pow' into the nearly silent street.

I shake my head in disbelief, in awe that he would do this. I manage to mumble a few words before I stumble off to the reaping.

"You- fucking- killed... him." I run away as quickly as I can, tears streaming down my face as I amble towards the seventeen line.  
I watch the president take place on the stage as I wipe tears from my eyes, trying not to cry any more.

_He's dead and that's not going to change._

I stand up straighter, trembling in fear of everything overwhelming.

"A female by the name of." I stiffen and shiver as he says the name clearly and slowly. It's not even mine. "Rayi! Rayi- I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, that was a mispronunciation. Riya Shores, District Four tribute. Thank you."  
_It's just a fucking game. You can outsmart them. You can win._

I take my place behind the microphone, not saying a word. The entire revolution and uprising debacle is discussed, then I am allowed into the Justice Building to say my final goodbyes. No one enters.

No one comes for me. No one comes to say goodbye to their best friend when she's going to get killed.

They betrayed me. They betrayed me! I clasp my head in my hands and as the minutes tick by, I realize that they never did care.

* * *

**A/N: OH MY GOSH HOW LONG DID THAT TAKE ME TO UPDATE?! Like two weeks D: But I'm back on track, and as discussed, updates will be shorter chapters. But likely less of a wait. I have my bloodbath list all up and sorted, and I even know a likely victor *hint hint*. I am open to mentors or avox submissions, they could change the Games!**


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